Sick Aragorn
by Lily Lindsey-Aubery
Summary: 'Is he dead' I asked timidly. 'It appears,' he said slowly, 'that he is.' Humorous story dedicated to all those who wanted me to write a Sick!Aragorn story. Because Erestor says everyone should have one! :D Please Read and Review!
1. Diagnosis

Chapter 1. Diagnosis

Aragorn likes to go off and hunt Orcs. He loves it; in fact, he does it almost constantly. He has a mental problem, I think; for whenever he goes without killing an Orc for over a week he gets angsty and upset. He stops eating. He goes about with a general air of doom and dismality, which casts a shadow over the bright and pleasant atmosphere of Rivendell.

Despite Aragorn's protestations, Orc hunting is very dangerous. Orcs have all kinds of germs, and viruses, and who knows what else in their blood. It is especially dangerous for Aragorn, because he has this strange idea that hacking Orcs is more manly than shooting them with a bow, and hence he gets more Orc parts touching him than most of us.

That's why I was not surprised when one day he returned home with a glassy look in his eyes.

I immediately ran for my book. I just love my book; it's called, 'Diagnostics: How to Diagnose and Treat All the Known Illnesses of Middle Earth'. It's very full of thousands of diseases, and I have marked each one I've treated, and labelled it with the name of the person who had it. I still have yet to treat most of the mental illnesses; they are not my forte, as can be seen just by glancing around Imladris. We have had an epidemic of insanity for several thousands of years.  
Anyway, I rushed for the book, which I found at last buried underneath Galdor's weapons (he likes weapons). Then I hurried back to Aragorn.

Now, there's something you must know about Aragorn: he hates being treated. He does not seem to see the connection between being treated and getting better. I have such trouble getting him to cooperate; he generally insists that he is 'not in the least ill;' that he 'doesn't need any confounded Athelas,' and that he'd 'rather die of not having a liver transplant than of having one.' He's so confident in my talent as a doctor, as you can see.

So I was not surprised when he acted the same way this time. (I'm actually rarely surprised at anything, really, but that is beside the point.) He was very angry, because he hadn't gotten a chance to speak to Arwen yet. And it's a good thing, because I didn't want her catching anything from him. Despite his protests and usage of language (the things he said would have gotten him his mouth washed out with soap if he was a few years younger), I dragged him into the infirmary and tied him to the hospital bed. Unfortunately, I was out of my tranquilizing herb at the moment, having used it all up when Glorfindel had come the day before.

'Now,' I said, 'let's get down to business.' I opened my monstrous tome. Aragorn cringed.

Just then, a voice interrupted us.

'My Lord Elrond,' he said, 'if I might make an observation...'

It was Lindir, of course. He likes to make observations.

'Well?' I asked, frowning. I don't like minstrels meddling in medical affairs.

'I think Elessar's condition is perhaps simpler than you think.'

I was annoyed. Lindir was usually my staunchest supporter when it came to Aragorn's illnesses, and here he was declaring that it was simple! Aragorn must have bribed him; I would have to talk to him about that later.

'How do you mean?' I asked skeptically.

'Glassy eyes can often mean that the patient is simply suffering from slight emotional trauma,' he said. Aragorn nodded vigorously. 'Perhaps,' said Lindir, continuing, 'he just saw an Orc head go flying in a particularly gruesome manner.'

'Or perhaps he is going blind!' I said, shaking my scalpel at him. He backed away. 'We cannot take the risk of dismissing his symptoms as nothing when it could very well be deadly.'

Lindir precipitously retired to the back of the room farthest away from the scalpel and let me proceed in peace.

'Now,' I said again, and began searching the index for 'glassy eyes'. Aragorn continued his moaning.

It took me a while to find what I wanted, but at last I had a nice long list.

'All right,' I said, straightening up and adjusting my glasses, 'these are the diseases you're in danger of having: schizophrenia, common cold, heart failure, hypothermia, allergic to toads, masochism, infection of the toe, low sodium, brain fever...'

'Stop!' roared my patient. He seemed upset.

'I could narrow it down,' I said helpfully, 'if you'll tell me more of your symptoms.'

'I don't have any symptoms,' he cried.

'Then I'll just have to treat you for all of these,' I said.

I smiled; it's so much fun to treat my patients.

* * *

_Oohoohoo, what tortures will Lord Elrond conjure up for our hapless hero? *evil grin of anticipation*_

_Please review! :D_


	2. Treatment

Chapter 2. Treatment

I have told you before that I'm very fond of my medical book; one of the things that makes it useful is a procedure checklist located in the back of it. It is for when I am unsuccessful in diagnosing a patient's condition, and it tells me what order to perform the cures in (from least deadly to mostly dead- I mean most deadly) so that it will not cause problems when I mistreat- I mean, when I _unsuccessfully_ treat- my patients. I use it often for Aragorn (because he _never_ will give me enough information to properly diagnose him), and I did this time as well.

'Well, well,' I said cheerily, donning my white coat and safety goggles, 'the first check mark is-'

'I know what the first check mark is,' he growled. 'I've gone through it a million times.'

I opened my mouth to disagree, but shut it again. He was right.

'Ahem,' I said. 'Let's get started.'

The first check mark, as I was saying, was, 'make sure the patient is clean.'

Aragorn hates baths almost as much as he loves hunting Orcs. I think he believes grime adds to his Ranger persona. And I have a growing suspicion that, even when I _do_ succeed in making him take one, he leaves his hair greasy just to spite me. (To tell the truth, think I shall withhold Narsil from him until he decides to cooperate.)

Aragorn took his bath, but still had a suspicious greasiness to his hair. I decided to let it pass.

Then a horrible thought struck me. What if he had lice? It was exactly what a Ranger _would_ have; they sleep on the ground and never bathe and who knows what else. (Rangers, not lice.)

'Aragorn,' I said sternly, 'I will have to cut off your hair.'

Aragorn, with a terrified look on his face, made a movement to feel his head, as if to make sure his hair had not already been removed. 'No,' he gasped.

'I must,' I insisted. 'I'm positive you have lice, and I will not have Rivendell overrun by them.' I rummaged in my doctor satchel for scissors. 'It won't hurt,' I assured him. He didn't seem very assured.

'No,' he cried again, struggling to get free of the hospital bed (which I had wisely retied him to). 'I'll do anything, anything but that!'

'Hmm,' I said, considering the amount of wealth he would have when he became king. Then I thought about the Florence Nightingale award: the award for cleanliest hospital. I shook my head.

'I- I'll wash it,' he said, swallowing nervously.

Ha! So I was right; he did neglect the washing of his hair. I considered again. It would have to do. I didn't want to accidentally cut off his head during a struggle which would inevitably occur if I tried to cut his hair.

'Go,' I said. 'Wash your hair. But... I will still need you to shave the stubble.'

'Not the beard,' he cried, grabbing it as if to hold it on. 'Don't touch it!'

'I won't,' I said in disgust. 'I don't want to touch a flee-infested beard. You will shave it yourself. Now,' I ordered.

'I won't,' he moaned. 'It's miiinnneee!'

'Well, it shouldn't be,' I said, shooting him a doomful glare.'It's high time it was removed. I'm sure it breeds lice, and besides, beards are for Dwarves, not us.'  
'I'm a man, not an Elf,' he said sulkily.

I had quite an argument with him over it. I hadn't known before that he was so attached to it. In the end I resorted to threats of taking off his whole head instead of just his beard, and not letting Arwen near him ever again. Thankfully that worked. He relapsed into quieter forms of protest, and I made him promise to do it if I untied him.

It was finally done. When I saw him again, I barely recognized him, he looked so different.

'Hmm,' I thought, 'maybe he _is_ better with a beard... oh well, too late now.'

His hair he had finally washed, and he ended up looking completely different from what he had before. It would take me a while to get used to this new Aragorn.  
'On to phase two,' I said, pointing to the hospital bed.

'Giving the patient Athelas?' asked Aragorn hopefully. He liked Athelas.

'No, that doesn't come until phase four,' I said. 'Phase two is giving the patient Wormwood.'

He groaned.

I smiled. Being the doctor is so much fun.

* * *

_Please Review! :D_


	3. More Treatment

_I had to change the rating to T for some drug references (Athelas). I hope no one has a problem with that... if you do I can take it out for you. Just let me know._

* * *

Chapter 3.

The wormwood didn't work. I think he dumped most of it out the window, because a few minutes after I gave it to him to drink, Galdor walked in with a strangle black substance dripping off his head. He must have been standing in the wrong place. (To tell the truth, it served him right; he's been hanging around here too much. He came about thirteen years ago and hasn't left; I think it's due to our superior cooks. The Havens don't have such good ones.)

The next thing I tried was a diet. He had nothing to eat but greens for a period of eight days, and it was amazing how he improved. Weight-wise. His eyes remained as glassy as ever. I would have kept him on it longer, except he was beginning to get _too _thin, and I didn't want him wasting away before he had gotten Arwen off my hands. Besides, he made a frightful uproar about it. He loves his meat.

Next was Athelas. This I had no trouble getting down his throat; he loves the stuff. But that didn't work, either; his eyes got glassier than ever. In fact, at one time he was completely knocked out; I think he overdosed.

Lady Galadriel says I should outlaw the use of Athelas except for medical purposes. People are taking (and smoking) too much of it, she says; it's dying out, and can't even be found anymore in Mirkwood. But I don't think I will. I'm making too much money selling it to Thranduil.

So on I went, trying time and again to cure Aragorn. Nothing worked. Every single thing I tried either did nothing, or made him worse.

I quarantined him, only letting Lindir go in to take him his meals. Lindir forgot about him for a whole day.

I gave him hundreds of shots. Apparently too many; he contracted influenza.

I made him spend more time outdoors. He got malaria.

Nothing I tried worked. I was extremely baffled. What to try next? My checklist said that the next move was to test him for mental disorders. I was not comfortable doing this, because I knew he had lots, and didn't want to know more about them than I already did.

So I paused in my curing frenzy and thought for a while.

After considering and deliberating for a good long time, I decided to just let him be for a time, keeping him in the hospital until I found out more about his condition.

Aragorn was adverse to this idea.

'I've been sitting in here for over a year,' he shouted when I told him of my new plan. I was surprised. I hadn't realized it had been so long. Well, as they say, time flies when you're having fun.

'Oh, don't worry,' I said. 'It won't be too bad.'

But it was. I had to listen to his constant complaining. He whined more now than when I was treating him, because if he complained too much during a treatment I would switch directly to the next, which was inevitably worse than the former. But now that my treatments were no longer a threat, he seemed to feel no compunction about tormenting me with complaints.

'I'm bored,' he said. 'There's nothing to do in here. I want to go hunt some Orcs.'

'No,' I said firmly. 'I have to keep an eye on your condition.'

'It's nothing,' he insisted. He always says that. 'My condition doesn't exist.'

'How do you know?' I asked.

'Because if it did,' he said slyly, 'you would have cured it by now.'

'Hmm,' I said, considering, 'that is probably true.' He looked hopeful. 'But I'm no willing to risk it yet,' I added, dashing his hopes to the ground. 'Stay put. I'm going to go find some echinacea...'


	4. Disease

Chapter 4.

I was terribly bored. I had to sit in the infirmary for months and months, doing nothing but popping pills and taking nasty dark sticky liquids internally. And just when I thought I'd be free of Lord Elrond's cures, I found that I'd be stuck in there indefinitely.

'I'm bored,' I stated. Lord Elrond glared at me in that way he has. It's really spooky.

'Well, too bad,' he said.

'I want to go shooting with Legolas,' I said. Nothing from my not-so-healer. 'I want to talk to Arwen.'

'You know very well that you can't,' he said sternly. 'She might get sick, too.'

'I'm booorrrreeed,' I repeated.

'Well, you don't like to read like Erestor,' said Elrond, turning towards me. 'You don't like to write music like Lindir. You don't like to be useful like me. So you'll just have to be bored.'

'I like weapons, like Galdor,' I said hopefully. It did not get the response I wanted.

'Shut up,' said Lord Elrond. 'If you really are bored, read a book.' He left the room to go torture some other innocent victim.

I got out of bed and went to the door. It was locked. I went to the window. It was locked. I threw a bottle of some pills at it. It didn't break. I slumped against the wall and gave up all hope of ever getting out.

I was even more bored now, without Lord Elrond to complain to. I aimlessly wandered around the room, looking for something to do. I found Lord Elrond's book lying on the table. It was that awful book that always appeared every time Lord Elrond thought I was ill.

I wondered why Lord Elrond liked it so much. Since I had nothing else to do, I flipped it open to a random page.

'Infectious Mononucleosis,' it read. 'The symptoms of this disease include but are not limited to: fatigue,...' I paused. I felt rather tired. Hmm... I read on. '...loss of appetite...' I wasn't exactly hungry, either. 'Sever soar throat. Fever.' I felt my head. It felt hot. I began to worry. I thought I felt a very small pain in my throat. I continued to worry with increased worriedness.

I thought that perhaps this was the disease that I had that Lord Elrond could not find.

I flipped to another page. 'Parkinson's Disease,' it said. 'Parkinson's disease is a disorder of the brain that leads to shaking and difficulty with walking, movement, and coordination.' Now I was more worried than ever. I remembered that before I had been hospitalized I had been having trouble with my beat parry. My hand had shaken and Elladan had almost gotten my head.

My concern was growing with every sentence I read. I feverishly turned the page. I immediately flipped it shut again; the picture was too disturbing. I cautiously reopened it to another page. Again, I had every symptom.

This went on for some time. I was terrified; I had no idea that I had been so ill all this time! Heart tremors, rashes, soar gums, and hair loss, I had it all. I heaved the book across the room and began to pace nervously. Then I flopped onto the bed and thought about my situation.

It was obvious that I was ill. I had a fever; I was shaky; the right edge of my left eyebrow was in intense pain. Lord Elrond was right after all. What should I do? It seemed I had every disease in the book. A sudden thought struck me: were any of these diseases fatal?

* * *

I was walking down the hall, carrying some hot chamomile tea to Galdor, when there was a blood-curdling scream from one of the hospital rooms. It startled me so that I dropped the tea, saucer and all onto Lord Elrond's nice new hospital tiles, where the dishes shattered into millions of little bits. It was a rather traumatic experience for me, for I knew that Lord Elrond would not be happy. He liked his dishes, and he liked his tiles. And Galdor liked his tea.

So for a few seconds I forgot about the cause of the mishap. Soon, however, it was brought back to my attention; for a fierce banging started up that would have awoken the dead. Not that there were any about; Lord Elrond always has the bodies taken away within twenty-four hours.  
I decided to leave the dishes for Erestor to clean up (I hoped no one stepped on the shards of china; but if they did, Lord Elrond would be very happy to cure them), and rushed towards the sound.

It was coming from Aragorn's room. I paused in hesitation before the door, for it had a sign on it that said, 'Do Not Let This Patient Out Under Any Circumstances' and under this in parentheses was 'except: in case of fire, in case of flood, in case of Elladan and Elrohir getting in, in case of meteor strike,' etc.

It didn't say 'in case of the patient banging desperately on the door and screaming bloody murder', but I thought it counted.

I opened the door. Out tumbled the patient, looking extremely ill; in fact, he looked iller than I had seen him look during the long time that Lord Elrond had been trying to cure him.

'Lindir!' he gasped, clutching at my robe, 'help me! I beg of you!'

'What is it?' I asked, trying to untangle my clothes from his grip.

'Call Elrond immediately,' he gasped. Then he hesitated. 'No, call Arwen. I want to see her before I die. And,' he called after me as I turned to go, 'don't forget to get a pastor!'

I grew slightly concerned. Aragorn didn't usually act like this. 'Lord Elrond,' I called, and rushed into the library.

He was there with Glorfindel, talking about Cave Trolls or Balrogs or Lady Galadriel, I can't remember which. He seemed annoyed that I was there; he usually did.

'Yes, Lindir?' he asked, trying to not sound irritated.

'My Lord Elrond,' I said, a little out of breath, 'your patient is asking that Arwen visit him. He also wants a pastor...'

'Oh, Aragorn?' he said. 'Tell him no, and for the last time, Arwen is not allowed to go near the patients! They might be contagious.'

'With all due respect, my Lord,' I said, 'he seems very ill. Perhaps you should go speak to him.'

Lord Elrond stood up reluctantly. 'Very well,' he said, and followed me to Aragorn's room.

Aragorn was on the floor. Lying in the doorway. Right were I'd left him.

And he appeared to be dead.

'Oh my Manwe,' said Elrond. I cringed; I had never heard Lord Elrond curse like that before.

'Is he dead?' I asked timidly. Lord Elrond bent down and examined the body.

'It appears,' he said slowly, 'that he is.'


	5. Mostly Dead

_Note: If you thought that the story ended right there, you are wrong. I hope I do not disappoint too many of you, though I know some of you would have liked that end. :P_

Chapter 5.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Lindir shifted slightly, and cleared his throat.

'Er, My Lord,' he said tentatively, 'what shall we, you know, do with the, um, to be specific... body?'

I sighed and straightened up, staring down at what once was Aragorn.

'Put it in the morgue with the rest,' I said.

'The rest?' Lindir asked anxiously. You know, I have a growing suspicion that Lindir is afraid of cadavers. Most unnatural.

'Yes; unfortunately, while I was experimenting on those Orcs, some did not survive.'

Lindir gasped. 'What did you do to them?' he asked.

'It wasn't me,' I said irritably. 'It was the trauma; you know, being taken away from home, being held prisoner by Elves, that sort of thing.' I could tell he was not convinced, and that put me in a bad mood. 'Now move along, take him to the morgue this instant.'

He began to, but Aragorn is rather heavy, and it takes more than one Elf to carry him, especially if that Elf is skinny and scrawny like my minstrel. I sighed. Where was Erestor when I needed him? I picked up the other half of the body and helped Lindir drag him in the general direction of the morgue.

We arrived at the door rather breathless, and Lindir dropped his part of Aragorn (which happened to be the head) quickly onto the floor, rubbing his wrists.  
'Lindir!' I yelled, 'Look what you did! You are ruining my tile. I shall have to disinfect the whole place. Now help me get him in.'

'I don't think I want to,' admitted Lindir. 'In fact I rather think I won't.'

'Lindir,' I said, astonished, 'you have never refused to do anything I have commanded you before.'

'No, I haven't,' he agreed, 'so don't be angry at me for doing it now. Get Glorfindel to do it; he's brave. He kills Balrogs.'

'One Balrog,' I corrected. I wasn't sure whether to let Lindir get away with this breach of conduct or not. But I had to admit that dead Orcs are no pretty sight. Besides, Glorfindel was so strong he might not need my help carrying the body.

'Go and get him,' I said at last, and set my end of Aragorn down, a little more gently than he had.

Lindir took an awfully long time. I think he must have stopped for some tea and cake. Since he was taking so long I decided to do an examination of Aragorn to see what had caused his sudden demise.

I began searching him for lacerations, burns, punctures, etc., but found nothing of significance.

'It must be internal,' I said, making a mental note. I banged on his head. It sounded hollow, but then it always had.

I had a startling surprise at that moment, for Aragorn twitched. I leaped back about a yard. Then I slowly advanced again to get a closer look. Aragorn jerked again.

Just then Glorfindel and Lindir showed up. They both looked very annoyed with each other, and walked at opposite sides of the hall. But then they always did.

'Pick him up,' said Lindir to Glorfindel.

'I shall not,' he said back. 'I am not some non-Balrog-slayer, that I should take my commands from a minstrel!'

'Silence!' I said, raising a hand. 'Do not take him away yet. I'm examining him.'

'Well you could have done that when he was in the hospital room,' said Lindir, trying to look exasperated and failing miserably. Instead he looked ridiculously smug because I had told Glorfindel to shut up.

'I only just thought of it,' I admitted. 'I'm guessing Arwen will want to know the reason of his untimely demise. If I don't have a good reason for her she's sure to blame me. She always was suspicious that I kept him in the hospital just to keep them apart.'

'Well, wasn't that the reason?' asked Glorfindel. I remained discreetly silent.

'So, what have you found out so far?' asked Lindir, helpfully changing the uncomfortable subject. I decided that I would consider giving him a raise after all.  
'I have found,' I said quickly, 'that he has Post Mortem Movement.'

There was a short silence.

'And what is that?' asked Glorfindel, attempting to sound casual.

'It's when the body moves after death.'

'Really? That sounds interesting,' said Elladan, who happened to appear at that moment. 'Lemme see.'

'No, son,' I said, trying to sound stern, 'this is not a sight for young eyes.' My words were cut short by gasps from the audience (which now consisted of Lindir, Glorfindel, Elladan and Elrohir) as the corpse moved.

'Doth mine eyes deceive me?' quoth Elrohir. I hate it when he does that.

Suddenly the corpse sat up. Or I should say patient. Apparently he wasn't a corpse. Anyway, the patient said quite intelligently:

'Water.'

'No water for deceased individuals,' I said.

'I'm not deceased,' he said, looking offended.

'What are you doing undeceased?' asked Elrohir. 'Don't you know that's very naughty to go about playing dead?' (he had been very severely punished for doing that several hundred years ago; I was glad to hear that he still remembered his lesson).

Suddenly Aragorn turned pale. Paler, I should say; he already looked like chalk. Now he looked like... I don't know, something whiter than chalk.

'Th-th-the...' he stuttered, pointing to the door which we had been about to enter twenty minutes ago.

'Morgue,' Elladan finished for him helpfully. 'Yes. That's right. We thought you were dead. Just think! You might have been buried alive!'

Aragorn fainted.

'Oh look, he's dead again,' said Elladan.

'Oh, shut up and help me move him back,' I said irritably. It's not exactly unembarrassing to have mistakenly thought someone dead when he was very much alive the whole time.

We got him back to the hospital bed, and a few minutes and several splashes of water later, he was awake again.

'Now Aragorn,' I said, 'tell me exactly what happened before you die- I mean, fainted.'

'I told Lindir to go get Arwen and a pastor.' He looked accusingly at the minstrel.

'What happened before that?' I asked patiently.

'I found out that I had Ischemic Heart Disease,' he said miserably.

I sighed. 'Aragorn,' I said, 'were you reading my book?'

'Yes,' he said.

'Leave us alone,' I said, making sure to glare at my two sons, who always insisted that I didn't mean them. Once everyone had left and was listening outside the door, I said to Aragorn, 'don't feel bad. The same thing happened to me when I first read it.'

He looked startled. 'What happened to you?'

'I thought I had them all,' I said. 'Every single one. But I got over it.'

'How do you know I don't have them all?' he asked nervously.

'Because it's simply impossible,' I explained. 'But I don't expect a medically uneducated individual like yourself to understand that.'

'I'm going to get medically educated,' he stated. 'I'm going to learn to cure all the illnesses that you never could.'

'Oh, don't do that!' I said, a trifle too quickly. 'I assure you that won't be necessary.'

'I will,' he insisted. Suddenly he wilted. 'You still haven't found out what's wrong with me, have you?' he asked.

'No. Not yet. Nor shall I, most likely, for a good long time,' I said firmly. 'And you are going to stay in here until I do.'

Aragorn said nothing. I turned to leave.

'Lord Elrond,' he said suddenly.

'Yes?'

He hesitated. 'What if,' he said slowly, 'I were to...'

'Well?'

'Give you...' he winced. 'Some of my pipeweed?'

I started, and began to pace the floor distractedly. 'This is bribery and corruption,' I observed.

'Yes,' he admitted.

I considered.

'Deal,' I said.

He sighed, half in relief and half in regret. 'I don't have much left,' he said sadly.

'Halves,' I said. 'Give me half.'

'Very well,' he said. 'And you'll let me out today? This instant?'

'Done.'

He jumped up to take his hasty departure.

'Aragorn,' I said. He paused. 'Did you bribe Lindir?' I asked.

'Plead the fifth,' he said, and disappeared out the door.

'I didn't know Lindir smoked,' I said thoughtfully to myself. 'Oh, well, more blackmail material...'

* * *

After this day there was a strange unofficial contest between my Lord Elrond and Aragorn. They would each try to out-do each other in every medical pursuit; in fact, sometimes they would try to treat each other's patients, which never ended well.

There was something good that came from the odd occurrence; both became such good doctors that eventually they were the best known in all of Arda. Now sick people can rest easy in Imladris, always confident that Lord Elrond will be successful in his attempts at curing them.

I, however, mean to never be put in one of his infirmaries; I can never forget the mistakes he used to make.

Perhaps some day I shall use them for blackmail.

* * *

_And this is the real end. :D There we are, finally Aragorn has recovered, and at last Imladris is free of Lord Elrond's maniacal attempts at treating illnesses. (Now he makes un-maniacal ones, we presume.) _


End file.
